


Place Your Eyes On Me

by Mackem



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1686218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marsac and Aramis sneak some time alone together, and discover a shared kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Place Your Eyes On Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dairyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairyme/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Chance of Desire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694789) by [dairyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairyme/pseuds/dairyme). 



> So, because I am the luckiest girl in the world, for my birthday [dairyme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dairyme/pseuds/dairyme) wrote me a fic in which Marsac and Aramis indulge in giddy, delighted role-play. ( **Edit:** The aforementioned fic [can be found here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1694789)! Go! Read! Roll around in how fantastic it is!) 
> 
> I wanted to return the favour, because there is nowhere near enough Marsac/Aramis fic in the world. Because I am the worst kind of person, dairyme also beta'd this for me. I admit that I take a perverse delight in taking tragic ex-lovers and making them hideously, disgustingly happy together, before circumstances can intervene and tear them apart. 
> 
> This takes place well before Savoy, and before Aramis has earned his commission, in case I have not made that obvious.

"Shh!"

"You shush!"

" _Shh_!" Aramis damn-near giggles into his neck, sounding far closer to a giddy teenager than he has any right to. The scrape of his stubble against his throat, twinned with the hot press of his lips, has Marsac gasping. "Be quiet,” Aramis admonishes, hovering over his hips to grin down at him. He pointedly glances at the closed door, through which the sounds of their brothers going about their business in the garrison can be heard. “Or we'll be discovered!"

" _You_ be quiet," Marsac breathes, and ensures his compliance by fisting a hand in Aramis' hair and pulling him into a fierce kiss.

It works, for a moment; until Marsac rolls them over to pin Aramis beneath him, hands at his shoulders and a thigh pressing close between his legs. Aramis groans raggedly, the sound only muffled when Marsac urgently presses his fingers over Aramis' mouth.

It quietens him effectively enough, but the way his hips rock eagerly up against Marsac in response suggests this will not be the case for long. "Really? You like this?" Marsac asks, chuckling in fond exasperation as he whispers down at his partner. He tightens his hand around his mouth for a moment, a teasing gesture that coaxes a groan from Aramis, then releases him. "Does _everything_ excite your passions?"

"Yes," Aramis grins, as he moves closer to grind against Marsac's thigh. "Everything. Everyone. But especially you."

"I'm honoured," Marsac laughs, as if his amusement will mask his sincerity. Aramis sees through him all too easily, as ever, but merely beams in return, and snakes a hand between them to rub against his prick through his trousers. He whines his appreciation, and lowers his head to press his lips to the arched column of Aramis' throat. "However did I live before you came along?" he murmurs.

"You didn’t live until you met me. You merely existed," Aramis grins, all too proud of himself. Marsac retaliates by scraping his teeth over Aramis’ neck, worrying the skin until he knows he’s left his mark. That Aramis gasps and presses closer to his touch sends a stab of lust through him, flooding to his cock.

Marsac pulls back to admire his handiwork. Aramis gazes up at him in return, dark eyes gleaming, his clothes in a state of disarray, the imprint of Marsac’s teeth clear on his throat as he grins, looking supremely self-satisfied. After a moment he makes his impatience clear; he slides a hand down the front of Marsac’s breeches, rubbing the heel against the hard press of his prick through his underwear. “Are you content merely to look at me,” he whispers, “or are you going to _do_ something?”

“I could look at you for hours,” Marsac says softly, trying not to sound as if it is a confession. Aramis merely laughs.

“We don’t have hours,” he whispers, a smirk at his lips as he rubs his knuckles along the length of Marsac’s cock.

Marsac gasps, head bowing, and pulls himself together enough to kiss Aramis. “You’re right,” he murmurs against his lips. “And you know how I dislike having to admit that to you.”

“You’re so hard on me,” Aramis laughs.

“You’re a recruit,” Marsac smiles in return, and slides his hand into Aramis’ underwear to fist his cock. “You’re here to be bullied by the rest of us.”

“Mm, such bullying,” he breathes against his lips, and gives Marsac’s lower lip a nip with his teeth. “I’m in _agony_.”

Marsac perhaps had something to say to that, but Aramis picks that moment to stroke his prick from root to tip, and it knocks any semblance of good sense from Marsac’s head. He groans, and reciprocates with a firm touch, relishing the way Aramis’ hips rock against him.

They are lost in each other for awhile, soon finding an easy rhythm that has them both panting. Aramis’ eyes close, his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks, but Marsac cannot bring himself to look away from him. He is beautiful, unashamedly chasing his own climax as he moves with Marsac yet never faltering as he strokes him in return, his hand heated and slick with precome in Marsac’s breeches.

It is heaven.

Until, that is, somebody yells Aramis’ name from the courtyard.

Their eyes meet, then Aramis throws his forearm over his face with a disgruntled whine. He mutters something vehement and sharp in Spanish, to which Marsac instinctively responds, “ _No entiendo_.” It is the only phrase he has been able to recall with any regularity, despite Aramis’ best efforts.

It makes Aramis smile, at least, his mouth crooking at the corners beneath the mask of his forearm. “What I said was too crude for your delicate ears,” he says.

“Thank you for sparing my sensibilities,” murmurs Marsac, and glances at the door. Aramis removes his arm to follow his gaze.

“Perhaps they’ve gone?” he suggests, a hopeful note to his voice. He sighs, however, when his name is bellowed again.

Marsac groans. They both take back their hands, then Marsac flops atop Aramis, frustration coursing through him. He buries his face in Aramis’ shoulder and has to stop himself from ordering him not to leave. Of the two of them, he is the musketeer; he should behave responsibly.

Responsibility takes the form of him muttering, “Go see what they want, then punch whoever it is,” into Aramis’ neck.

“Gladly,” Aramis grumbles in return. He gives Marsac’s shoulder a petulant shove and Marsac rolls off him, sighing up at the ceiling as Aramis wipes his hand on the bedsheet. He wastes no time in getting up, one hand awkwardly adjusting his prick in his underwear as the other slides his braces back onto his shoulders. They had not even got as far as removing their shirts. Life is cruel.

Aramis sits on the edge of the bed and bends to pull his boots on. His shirt is hanging from his trousers, so Marsac reaches out to helpfully push it into the leather, relishing the fondness in Aramis' eyes when he turns. Aramis snags his hand and brushes a kiss against his knuckles, ever the gentleman. "My apologies," he murmurs.

Marsac gives him a crooked smile. "It's hardly your fault."

"Quite. I suppose it's natural that I'm so in demand," Aramis grins in return, and rises with a chuckle before the swat Marsac aims at him can connect. 

He moves to the door, but turns just before he opens it. Dark eyes rake over Marsac, unmistakably longing. Marsac's breath catches for a moment, as it so often seems to around Aramis. "Think of me, at least?" Aramis asks.

Marsac blinks, struggling to comprehend. "Pardon?"

Aramis’ eyes move pointedly to the bulge in his breeches, and he gives Marsac a decidedly wicked smile. He slips out of the room then, and Marsac is left flushing at the unspoken implication as the door closes behind him.

Truly, this man will be the death of him.

He tries, for a few long moments, to convince himself that he is _not_ going to touch himself. To remind himself that he is a grown man, able to restrain his baser urges and to let the fire of his lust burn out.

But his skin is heated and over-sensitive, his cock still hard and eager in his underclothes, and when he shifts, the damp friction against his flesh is unbearable. He groans quite without meaning to, and rocks his hips into that clinging touch once more.

His head thumps back into the pillow, and the ceiling receives his resigned huff.

Marsac closes his eyes, shoves his trousers down to his thighs, and wraps his hand around his prick.

He takes a moment to settle himself, spreading his legs and pillowing his head on his arm, before he strokes himself in a loose fist. His heels dig into the thin mattress as he cants his hips up, sighing softly and searching his thoughts for inspiration.

He doesn’t have to think for long. If he cannot have Aramis here in person, he will have him in his mind.

The first image that springs to mind is Aramis on his knees, his pretty mouth filled with Marsac's prick. He always makes such a pleasing sight like that; legs spread, kneeling up to take every inch of him, his own cock often hard merely through the act of pleasuring his partner. 

Sometimes he allows Marsac to tangle a hand in his hair and to control him, keeping the pace as slow or hard as he likes; other times he keeps Marsac in place with an iron grip at his hips and indulges his own whims, taking Marsac into his throat or teasing him with merely the tip of his tongue until Marsac is left pleading for mercy.

He pictures the former now, imagining Aramis kneeling over his hips and doing exactly as Marsac wants, lips stretched around his cock as he looks along the length of his body, eyes gleaming. Marsac swipes the pad of his thumb over the head of his prick and imagines it is Aramis' tongue, his breath hitching at the thought.

He can feel himself inching closer to climax, hips rocking into the cradle of his hand, so he casts his thoughts around for further inspiration.

The image of Aramis spread out beneath him leaps into his mind, as it so often does nowadays. Marsac is hardly a boy any more, but he would wager that since meeting Aramis, he has found his mind turning towards the idea of them coupling far more often than it ever had when he was a stripling youth. He has accused Aramis more than once of being too tempting for one man to reasonably handle, if only to see him cackle and preen, but he knows deep inside that the fault is his; he is besotted, helplessly so. He can no more turn his thoughts from his friend than a moth can resist a flame.

So he pictures Aramis in bed with him him, lain out on his belly with his arse presented up, slick and stretched and aching to be filled. He loves Aramis that way, adores how he whimpers and moans and then relaxes into the slow stretch, as if he was made to be fucked. Whenever Marsac makes him wait for long enough, teasing with long, slow scissors of his fingers, Aramis will abandon any pretense of dignity and beg for his cock, his head bowing and his eyes wide and desperate, as though all he could ever need is to be filled up and held close.

Marsac groans at the thought of it, arching into the touch of his hand. He tightens his fingers and pictures pushing inside Aramis, into that tight, slick heat, his orgasm rushing closer with every stroke.

Until somebody else moans.

Marsac's eyes slam open as a sudden wave of horror crashes over him. He yanks his hand free and scrambles up the bed, hurriedly dragging the blankets over his lap and staring wide-eyed at the doorway.

Where he sees Aramis, leaning against the closed door and watching avidly, grinning like the devil himself. "Please," he says breathlessly, "don't stop on my behalf."

"You little _shit_!" Marsac grinds out, his heart hammering in his throat. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought - "

" - I was summoned to complete my report on those thefts," Aramis says smoothly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Which you will be happy to hear I finished yesterday, like a good boy, immediately after I delivered the thieves to the prison.”

Marsac snorts instinctively, relaxing in increments as his surprise slowly settles. “Like a good boy,” he echoes, an eyebrow arched. 

Aramis merely shrugs, and offers a shameless grin. “When I pointed this out, I was allowed to return about my business. Which I did with all due haste,” he breathes, his eyes shining at Marsac as he lets his head fall back against the door. His hands drop back down and and he shifts, pointedly adjusting his breeches. “Imagine my delight when I slipped back to my partner, and found him in the throes of passion, with my name upon his lips.” 

Marsac’s eyes widen, and a shock of desire courses through him as he realises Aramis has been savouring the sight of Marsac indulging his urges. 

He colours, more flustered than embarrassed. His cock is no less hard for the sudden interruption; if anything, he realises, he is _harder_. "I'm certain I wasn't saying your name,” he grumbles, entirely uncertain about the matter. He drops the covers when he realises he’s clutching them to his neck, in the manner of a grandmother disturbed in her bedchambers by some unsavoury rogue. 

"I know what I heard," said rogue counters smugly. 

“Nor was I aware I had an audience,” Marsac retorts, his words sharp, but as they leave his lips, another realisation strikes; his initial horror has dissipated and, now he knows who is watching, he finds the idea of eyes upon him _thrilling_.

Well. This is interesting. Unexpected, but interesting.

"I _did_ knock," Aramis says, and there is an uncertain undertone to his voice that makes Marsac melt.

So, aiming both to reassure his friend, and to explore the warm, delighted tingle that has settled in his belly, Marsac pushes the blanket from his lap and lies himself out once more, his legs spread and his cock on display. "I suppose I was rather too distracted to hear you," he says, letting his fingers tease lazily at his hard length.

Aramis' breath catches, before a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. "You like this," he murmurs. "Why didn't you say?"

"I didn't know until now," Marsac says honestly. "I wasn't hiding it from you. I doubt I could keep much from you for long," he adds wryly.

Aramis gives him a supremely fond look. “Nor I from you,” he admits, then arches an eyebrow. "Would you like me to join you once more, then? Or," he murmurs, with a bite of his lower lip as he casts his hungry gaze over Marsac, "would you like me to remain here while you put on a show for me?"

Marsac's involuntary groan seems answer enough for the both of them.

This time, when Marsac wraps his hand around his cock, he does not close his eyes. Instead he focuses on Aramis, meeting his eyes as he fists himself with long, slow strokes.

The eagerness with which Aramis struggles out of his braces and shoves his breeches down just enough to get his hands on his cock may have amused him in any other circumstances. Now, however, it delights him to see his partner so keen to lay hands upon himself. 

If Marsac finds himself initially a little self-conscious, his prick has no such problem; it only swells further as Aramis wraps a hand around his hard length, eyes fixed on him. The attention is like a fan to the flame of his lust, setting sparks of desire crackling through his body to gather low in his belly, building with every stroke of his hand.

Aramis, for his part, licks parted lips and works his cock with long, steady pulls as he watches. He lets his head fall back against the door, his eyes heavy-lidded and the long arch of his throat on display; it makes for a very pretty picture, but it also produces a dull _thunk_ that is far louder than either expect.

They both freeze, once more horribly aware that they could be discovered at any moment. With their hands still on their cocks, both men strain their ears for any sign that they’ve been overheard.

When their brothers fail to burst into the room, Marsac sighs in relief, his heart hammering. Aramis curses, and Marsac shushes him desperately. “Have you forgotten where we are?”

“Hardly,” Aramis retorts.

“Then will you be quiet?” Marsac hisses. “Or do you want us to be discovered?”

Aramis grins at him in return, and traces his tongue over his lower lip. “Of course not,” he murmurs, “but the idea of it is exciting, don’t you think?”

Marsac swallows. “In what way?” he asks, not because he disagrees, but because he wants to hear Aramis tease him with it.

Aramis, for his part, plays along without hesitation, as he always does. “Here you are, putting on such a lovely show,” he murmurs, his voice low as his fingers begin to move again, teasing lightly at his firm length. “And a show is nothing without an audience. Perhaps you would enjoy more eyes on you?”

“Aramis,” Marsac whines, his own hand once more beginning to move over himself.

“An entire crowd, gathered around to watch you,” Aramis whispers. “Eyes fixed on you as you show yourself off.”

“Aramis, please!” gasps Marsac, lust curling in his belly. Aramis smiles.

“You like the idea of that?”

“The idea, perhaps,” Marsac allows, and smiles in return. “But you are audience enough for me.”

“Good. I despise sharing. Then we should keep our voices down,” Aramis murmurs. His breath hitches when Marsac thumbs over the flushed head of his prick and arches into his own hand, thighs spreading as wide as they can in the tangle of his breeches. “Truly, you have no idea how beautiful you are,” he breathes, drawing a whine from Marsac. “I wish you could see yourself.”

"I am not so enamoured of my own body that I should enjoy seeing myself like this," Marsac laughs, but Aramis shakes his head. 

"You are beautiful. In general, certainly, but especially like this,” Aramis says softly. He is panting by now, legs spread and his shoulders back as he thrusts into his hand. “I have made it my business to get my hands upon on you as often as you would allow. I cannot believe I had not considered how gorgeous you could be when I can do nothing but watch!” 

"Not quite _nothing_ ," Marsac manages, watching as Aramis strokes himself more quickly. He cannot be far from climax. His prick is leaking, and flushed; when Marsac arches his spine and reaches down to toy with his balls, displaying himself for Aramis' scorching gaze, his friend groans raggedly.

"You are such a tease," he whimpers, and if Marsac wasn't teetering on the brink of orgasm, perhaps he would have commented on the irony. "When I walked in and saw you touching yourself I could have spilled in my breeches from that alone. But this... Oh, this is far better. To see you display yourself for me..."

"You like it?" Marsac asks, his own voice thin and desperate. Aramis nods shakily, his pupils blown wide.

"I adore it. I want every man and women in Paris to see you this way,” he whispers, his voice ragged, “so they can see there is real beauty in this world."

"You are full of shit," Marsac gasps in return, but his blush does not go unnoticed, judging from the smug smile Aramis gives him. "You - you wish to share me, then?"

"I do _not_ ," Aramis hisses fiercely. "And I am a hypocrite for it, I know.” He shakes his head jerkily, his usual grace unravelling as he pushes into his fist. “I’ll confess to that sin a thousand times, and gladly accept any penance you would demand of me for it. I would love people to see you like this,” he says with a bite of his lip, trying to catch his breath as he pants. “To see what a sight you make, but to share you? No. I’m far too selfish."

"This is for you," Marsac murmurs, overcome by these sentiments. "Only for you, Aramis, always."

“And anyway,” Aramis manages, his voice thick as his breathing speeds, “I am - _oh_ \- far too busy with you to allow anybody else to take up your time,” he says, throat bobbing as he struggles to remain coherent. “We have so much to do together."

"Indeed?" Marsac aches with need now, so close to climax. His head is swimming, and it takes great effort to keep his voice down. "What - what do you want to do with me?"

"Everything," breathes Aramis raggedly. "What wouldn't I do with you? We - we will do everything together, and then when we are finished, we will do it all over again, that much harder."

Marsac turns his face into his pillow to muffle his cry as he spills over his hand, his hips snapping and his back arched as he comes, completely overwhelmed. For a moment every muscle in his body is taut as Aramis' words drag his climax from him, until he relaxes, sprawling boneless in his sheets.

He realises after a second that Aramis is yet to come; he is still watching from across the room, his head thrown back and his teeth endlessly worrying his lower lip. Marsac takes in the way his chest rises and falls as he pants, watches his hand tighten desperately on his prick, and murmurs lazily, "I did think of you, when you had gone. Thought about filling that sweet mouth of yours, of using your mouth, your _throat_ until you couldn't help but breathe me in.”

“Yes,” Aramis breathes, swallowing hard. 

Marsac smiles lazily, never letting his gaze drop from Aramis as he watches him unravel. “And I thought about working open that tight hole of yours and making you beg for me, whimpering and pleading for my cock."

"Marsac, please," Aramis whines.

"I wonder if I could open you up with my tongue?" Marsac asks, and gladly watches as Aramis shudders into climax, his eyes squeezed shut and his hips jerking shakily.

It seems Marsac likes watching almost as much as he likes being watched. Today has certainly been full of discovery.

Aramis groans softly and allows himself to slide down the door onto the floor, his legs carelessly falling open. They stare at each other for a moment, two grown men with their cocks hanging out of their breeches and their own seed on their hands, and suddenly, all they can do is laugh.

"May I join you now?" Aramis asks as they collect themselves, a smile at his lips. "Is the show over?"

"Unless you consider me washing my hands sexually arousing?" Marsac asks dryly. One can never tell, with Aramis.

He's sure the two of them make quite the sight, holding their breeches up with one hand while they wash themselves down in the water bucket Marsac had drawn up this morning, but as they no longer have an audience of sorts, neither can find it in themselves to care.

Marsac tucks himself away, neatens up his breeches until he's certain he'll pass for a respectable man once more, and takes the opportunity to do the same with Aramis. He finds his earlier confidence is waning now he has spilled, so he seeks out familiar touches to settle himself.

Aramis knows him well enough by now to know when to exercise his tried and tested charm, and when to draw him out with patience. He merely lets him do as he pleases, dropping his hands and smiling fondly when Marsac laces up his breeches. "Thank you," Marsac murmurs after a moment, focused on straightening Aramis' shirt. 

"Your manners are impeccable," Aramis says with a soft chuckle, "but for what am I being thanked?"

"For indulging me," Marsac says simply.

“Such indulgence!” Aramis laughs. “Yes, it is _such_ a hardship for me to watch you pleasure yourself! You certainly owe me a favour for this, my friend.”

“I am not allowed to thank you for an enjoyable time?” Marsac protests. Aramis rolls his eyes impatiently, but the gesture is betrayed by the way his mouth turns up at the corners.

"Of course, if you’ll accept that I enjoyed it too? It’s not a matter of me indulging you. I’m honoured you offered me the chance to see you that way.”

“Oh, you’re _honoured_ , are you?” Marsac snorts, and laughs when Aramis draws himself up, mock-haughtily.

“Honoured _indeed_ , sir!” he says pompously, then allows his voice to settle into something more natural. “I am a lucky man to know you," he murmurs; he presses a kiss to Marsac’s forehead, and Marsac can feel the smile against his skin.

He nods, pleased by Aramis’ words and touches. "You are indeed," he agrees, and relishes the way Aramis laughs in delight.

"Oh! Mine is suddenly not the biggest ego in the room!"

"Hardly," Marsac grins. "I was being ironic. _You_ always mean statements such as that."

“Perhaps. Well, statements about having the biggest _something_ in the room,” Aramis shrugs, and beams when Marsac laughs. Marsac draws him into an embrace as naturally as he would draw air, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

“You are insufferable.”

“I am glad you choose to suffer me regardless,” Aramis laughs against his ear, and returns the kiss before pulling away with a sigh. “I suppose we should rejoin our brothers, before the garrison falls down around us?”

“Before they realise we’re neglecting our duties. Again,” Marsac says sheepishly, for this is not the first time they have hidden away to snatch some time to themselves. He gives him a gentle push towards the door. “What shall we say we were doing?”

“That is hardly important,” Aramis chuckles, turning to him before they can leave. He leans close to plant a final kiss on his lips, and murmurs, “What I want to know is, what shall we do _next_ time?”

Marsac swallows. “As you said,” he murmurs, his heart so light it could float away, “we will do it again, that much harder.”


End file.
